


The Reception

by time_being



Category: Doctor Who
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-09-11
Updated: 2020-09-11
Packaged: 2021-03-06 18:49:16
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,764
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26413696
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/time_being/pseuds/time_being
Summary: For some reason, you always run into people you don't want to see at weddings.
Comments: 2
Kudos: 6





	The Reception

**Author's Note:**

> I had a lot of feels after Invasion of the Dinosaurs. This works with Planet of the Spiders, but maybe it works better if you don't include that one.
> 
> CW for some mild swearing and mentions of blood/skin picking.

Under normal circumstances, Brigadier Alistair Gordon Lethbridge-Stewart enjoyed a good wedding, especially when one half of the happy couple was a former colleague whose work you respected and whose company you liked. Unfortunately, these were not normal circumstances. He had realised, with uncomfortable cynicism (even for him), that it is very difficult to listen to an exchange of wedding vows and not compare them to your own, made with roughly the same amount of sincerity. 

Looking around the busy room in which the reception was being held, he wondered if anybody else shared his miserable thoughts. He was sat with a group of higher ups from UNIT - a few generals and a knight or two. Instead of discussing the cruel ironies of love, his companions seemed much more interested in telling the same battle stories over and over again, retreading the same old ground. The Brigadier wished that Benton could have stayed for longer after the ceremony, and cursed himself for putting him on duty that night. Not to discuss details of his love life with, of course, but Benton's football talk would have been a welcome distraction from his own melodramatic musings. Even the Doctor's antagonistic conversations would be preferable to this. 

A loud burst of laughter sounded from one of the more raucous tables, and General Rogers on his left chuckled to himself. 

"Hippies eh! At least they're enjoying themselves!"

The Brigadier smiled and nodded, hoping that the General would return to the main conversation but no - the General spoke again. 

"I say - isn't that young girl something to do with you Brigadier?"

The Brigadier turned to look at the collection of scruffy (didn't they know how to dress for a wedding?) youngsters. With a pleasant surprise, he saw two familiar faces at the table - Jo Grant and her husband, the Professor. Still looking at the group, hoping to catch their eye, the Brigadier replied.

"Yes General - Miss Grant. She was the assistant to the Doctor - the scientific advisor. You know, the fellow who -"

The Brigadier stopped as he recognised another familiar face at the table. Captain Yates. 

The General nodded, still looking at Jo. "Lucky chap, eh!"

The Brigadier cleared his throat, trying to think how to continue, before giving up and picking up his drink, still staring at the man. 

The last time the Brigadier had seen Yates, Yates had been aiming a gun at him. That was until Benton did some sort of a flying kick and knocked the gun out of his hand, chaos ensued and Yates was taken away. After the madness of the dinosaurs, the time travellers, and the ecological cultists had subsided, the Brigadier hadn't wanted to see Yates, and so he hadn't. One quiet discharge later, and UNIT had been down one Captain and the Brigadier down a good man (but he supposed he had been before that anyway). 

A few years later (for some reason dates relating to UNIT matters seemed to be malleable, for which the Brigadier personally blamed the Doctor) and the version of Yates sat at the table not 20 feet away seemed to have aged at least a decade. The man had been slim to begin with, but his face was now positively gaunt and from the Brigadier's limited view, the rest of him seemed much thinner as well. The rest of the wedding guests at that particular table were animated and loud, but as the Brigadier watched, he noticed that Yates seemed quiet and reserved, both in comparison to his friends (friends?) and the man he had been before that whole business (that he'd really rather not think about). 

The Brigadier pulled his gaze away, turning back to his table. As he set his glass back on the table, he realised he had been gripping it much tighter than necessary. If he didn't know any better, he would say that he was furious. Which was ridiculous - just at the mere sight of a man who was of no consequence to him or his life any more. 

With enormous effort, the Brigadier attempted to concentrate on the conversation going on around him. However, due to his position at the table (and, honestly, the quality of the stories being told) his gaze kept slipping back to that table across the room. The more whiskeys brought to the table, the more difficult it was to avert his eyes, until he was all but staring at the group. Luckily, due to Yates' position at the table (or Yates' efforts?) he didn't make eye contact with him.

Excusing himself from the table, the Brigadier stood up, looking directly at the other table, wondering whether to wander up, say hello to Miss Grant and the Professor, make Yates squirm a bit. After this brief (and surprisingly mean-spirited) thought crossed his mind, the Brigadier shook his head, and crossed to the bathroom. 

***

Returning from the bathroom, the Brigadier glanced at his table, talking at each other. Weighing up his options, he decided that going to the bar himself to get his own drink might net him a few extra minutes of relative peace and quiet, despite the rowdy crowd at the bar (at least he was under no obligation to politely listen to them). 

Whilst waiting for his drink, the Brigadier noticed with some horror that the group standing next to him was made up of guests from Jo's table, including the Professor and - of course - Yates. The Brigadier cursed himself for not paying closer attention, blaming both the whiskeys and the state of catatonia bought on by the General's stories. 

As Yates had his back to the Brigadier, he took the opportunity to look for Miss Grant in the crowd - Yates or no Yates, he'd find a chance to catch up with her and buy her a drink. However, she was nowhere to be seen, and as he surveyed the room, wondering if now was his best chance to find her without any awkward conversations, Professor Jones caught his eye and smiled at him. Oh dear. 

"Now boyo, you look familiar! Don't tell me, we've met before..."

As the Professor spoke, Yates turned round to face the Brigadier. As soon as their eyes met, recognition flashed in his eyes and his face turned a worrying shade of white. Not noticing the change in Yates' demenour, the Professor continued.  
"Of course! I'd know that moustache anywhere! Brigadier Lethbridge-Stewart! Jo was hoping to see you here! Look, here she is now!"

The Brigadier turned in time to see Jo run up to him, and to his surprise, wrap her arms around him in a tight embrace. Pulling away, she laughed and held out her hand, which he took, smiling. 

"Miss Grant - or of course, I should call you Mrs Jones now?"

"Brigadier, you'll call me Jo and like it!" 

The shock of the hug (which the Brigadier suspected had more to do with Jo's blood alcohol content than their relationship) wearing off, the Brigadier remembered his original discomfort at seeing the group, and reflexively turned towards the Professor and Yates. But Yates had disappeared, leaving only the Welshman. The Professor put his arm around Jo and shook the Brigadier's hand. 

"Nice to see you again lad! Met any extra-terresial life forms recently?"

After exchanging some brief pleasantries and small talk (if you can have small talk about aliens), Jo pulled the Brigadier to one side as the Professor rejoined the other youngsters. 

"Brigadier, it's lovely to see you again but I do have one request."

"Don't tell me - there's an enigmatic stranger who's recently arrived in your village and is bending the locals to his will, calling himself Le Masteur."

"It's a bit simpler than that. Will you please stop glaring at our table?"

The Brigadier reddened.

"Miss - Mrs - Jo, I must apologise. I can assure you it wasn't -"

"It's not exactly rocket science, is it? Mike told us about everything that happened with those creatures. He also mentioned he was worried about coming today as there'd be so many UNIT personnel attending, but we managed to convince him. Thought it might be good for him even. Well the only UNIT personnel left, as far as I'm aware, are the happy bride, those stuffy old bores sat at your table and you. And unless any of your friends have an axe to grind with poor Mike -"

The Brigadier's eyes widened in surprise. 

"Poor Mike? Miss Grant, do you know exactly what happened with Captain Yates?"

"Yes, he's told -"

"Do you know that he was nearly responsible for the death of every human on this planet, bar a chosen few cult members?"

"Yes, but -"

"Do you know that the last time I saw him, he was pointing a gun at me? And the Doctor, if that makes you reconsider your position."

Jo nodded uncomfortably. 

"In short, I'm not surprised that he's worried to see me. If I was him, I'd be extremely worried to see me."

Jo pulled the Brigadier away from the bar and the attention that they were drawing to themselves until they reached a quiet corner.

"Brigadier -"

"Please Miss Grant, you're no longer a UNIT employee. Call me Alistair."

"Okay, Alistair - no, that's too weird. Brigadier, Mike told us everything. And not some half-baked version of what happened where he paints himself in a saintly light. We know what happened. His betrayal - the discharge. The breakdown."

The Brigadier raised an eyebrow at this, but Jo continued.

"Mike reached out to us because he had nowhere to go. I suppose he thought that Brazil might be far enough away to escape what he'd done, but obviously not. We've tried to help him come to terms with what happened, encouraged him to go to therapy. He works for Cliff now, assisting with his mycology studies."

"Miss Grant, I don't care if he's breeding a mushroom magical enough to turn him into a dinosaur -"

"I'm not asking you to!" Jo shouted. The room quietened, a few heads turning to look at them. Jo closed her eyes, breathing deeply, then opened them. 

"Brigadier, I'm not asking you to forgive Mike. I'm not asking you to like him, I'm not asking you to give him a bloody lift home. Please just stop glaring at him. The amount of booze you two are putting away, I wouldn't be surprised if it came to blows, and I don't want to have to patch up Cliff after he tries to break up a fight between two soldiers!"

The Brigadier sighed. 

"I'm sorry Miss Grant. This isn't your problem."

"Can we at least agree to disagree? I'm sure Mike won't be here for much longer. Maybe once he's gone we can have a proper catch up and we can tell you about Brazil."

The Brigadier nodded. 

"Of course Miss Grant. I can't let my personal feelings get in the way of hearing your tales of the Amazon!" (He hoped.)

***

A few hours later (two? three?) the hall had emptied out quite a bit, with small collections of people at the various tables. Unfortunately, the small remainder of guests included Yates, still with Jo, the Professor and their friends, and Sir Timothy, who was rambling to the Brigadier about World War One (or was it World War Two? The Brigadier wasn't really listening). Fortunately, all the Brigadier had to do was make the appropriate noises of "hmm" and "oh" and laugh in the right places, without engaging in the conversation at all. Unfortunately, this meant that his mind was free to wander between two uncomfortable topics - his marriage and his ex-employee. Combined with the amount of whiskey that he'd put away, the Brigadier was now in a thoroughly foul mood. 

Rising to his feet, he interrupted Sir Timothy's stream of consciousness. 

"A drink, Sir?"

"No thank you Brigadier, my car should be coming to collect me now."

Finishing his drink, he said his goodbyes to Sir Timothy, and took his empty glass to the bar. Looking at his watch, the Brigadier wondered whether to cut his losses and head home. Not that there was anybody to go home to. Should he wait to see if Jo and Cliff wanted to stay and chat? The room was dark now, and he wasn't the most reliable witness at this moment in time, but there wasn't a sign of Mike anywhere. Making up his mind, he turned and set off towards their table.  
Unfortunately on his way to the table, the Brigadier veered slightly off course (or was he veered into?) and accidentally bumped the shoulder of a tall man also walking away from the bar. The full glasses that the man was carrying jolted, sending a shower of beer onto the Brigadier's shoes, as well as a good amount onto the man himself. 

"Oh god, I am sorry -"

Looking up from his wet shoes, the Brigadier made eye contact with Mike.  
Upon recognising the Brigadier, Mike's hand shook a second time (almost as if beginning to snap to attention), sending more beer onto the floor. The two men faced each other, both lost for words. The Brigadier was disconcerted to see that Mike had a look of what could almost be described as terror on his face. 

"Mike -"

Mike looked down at the Brigadier's shoes, and then again at his jumper. 

"Brigadier - I'm so sorry - it's gone very dark in here - but I'm sorry -"

"Not at all Cap - Yates, my fault entirely."

With the apologies dealt with, the two men stood in silence, glancing between the beers and the shoes. Mike eventually broke the silence.

"Are you having a nice night Sir?"

At that moment a roar of laughter came from Mike's table. The Brigadier nodded tersely.

"Very enjoyable. I haven't had as much fun as you and your friends though."

Mike went even redder (if it was possible, the man looked like an overripe tomato), and apologised again. Looking over to the table, the Brigadier spotted Jo staring anxiously at the pair, and sighed internally. 

"Apologies Yates. Let me buy you a replacement."

Mike stared at him, confused (it dawned on the Brigadier that Mike spelt like a brewery, and not just due to the beer drying on his clothes). The Brigadier sighed, and walked back to the bar. 

"What do you want, man?"

Mike joined the Brigadier like a man in a trance and blurted out the name of some cheap-sounding brand of lager. 

"Excellent. Two - of those."

The men waited in uncomfortable silence, the Brigadier grasping for something to say. Luckily, Mike saved him.

"It's - very nice to see you again Sir."

"Not at all Yates. And no need for the Sir."

"Of course Sir - I mean - Bri - of course."

A minute more of uncomfortable silence passed. 

"This may be inappropriate Sir, but would you like to have a drink with me?"

The Brigadier's eyes widened. Surely he hadn't given off signals that he wanted to make amends with the man? Upon seeing his expression, Mike stammered a justification.

"Of course not, that's fine - I just thought - if you wanted to talk about -"

Internally, the Brigadier groaned. All he wanted was a chat with Jo. Why did this wretched man have to make things so damned awkward! Jo was still staring at the two men from across the room. The Brigadier gritted his teeth.

"Why not Yates. Clear the air and all that."

***

Sitting at a table out of sight of the remaining guests (and too far away to be overheard, unless they started shouting, which was a very real possibility), the Brigadier stared at his glass and wondered why he'd agreed to this. He guessed the numerous whiskeys he'd consumed throughout the night may have had something to do with it, or possibly the idea of going home to an empty house was grimmer than this conversation. Somehow. 

After a day of making small talk with numerous wedding guests, the Brigadier was on autopilot.

"So what are you doing now Yates?"

"Sorry Sir?" (The Brigadier had given up correcting him.)

"Working - where are you working? Unless you're not -"

"Yes, I'm sorry - I'm working for Cliff, Jo's husband. But of course you know him, sorry."

Every minor apology Yates offered the Brigadier made him clench his teeth together harder and harder.

"And what are you doing with Professor Jones?"

"Mushrooms. I mean - I assist him with his experiments. Involving alternative proteins, meats, that sort of thing. The environmental impact of meat is -"

Mike cut himself off, and the Brigadier noted that he seemed to have touched a nerve (in this conversation it was more difficult to say anything that didn't). 

"Of course, Miss Grant was telling me about the Professor's experiments."

"Yes, of course. It's not very interesting. How has work been for you? Of course, if you can't -"

"Same as ever. The Doctor seems to have disappeared for good, along with that Sarah Jane. We've had the odd issue with aut-"

The Brigadier caught himself.

"Yates, you'll understand that I can't tell you any specifics. Classified government information."

"Completely Sir. I'm sorry for asking -"

"For god's sake, stop apologising!"

The last remark from the Brigadier had an edge to it that the rest of their stilted conversation hadn't, and they both stopped, staring into their drinks. The Brigadier wondered how much he could take of this before he punched Yates or himself (or both for good measure). 

"There's one thing I can't apologise for."

The Brigadier raised an eyebrow, wondering if Mike was about to come up with some saccharin justification for his misdeeds, some bollocks about pollution and the environment and the greater good. Without making eye contact, Mike carried on.

"I can never apologise for what I did. I've tried to make amends with the Earth, and with myself. Every day, I have to wake up and face the facts that I tried to kill every human on this planet. Every person I encounter - my friends, my family, everybody in the street - if I'd succeeded they'd all be dead."

His voice wavering slightly, Mike continued.

"I'm lucky that I was stopped by UNIT. I'm lucky that Jo and Cliff have shown faith in me and given me a second chance. I'm lucky that I wasn't tried with - let's call it what it was - treason. All these are just more things to be sorry for. Every single day."

The Brigadier, taken aback by this rush of honesty, sipped his drink. Suddenly, Mike stood up, almost knocking his chair over.

"This was a stupid idea, I'm sorry Sir -"

Before he knew what he was doing, the Brigadier had grabbed Mike's sleeve and pulled him back into his seat. The look of surprise on Mike's face was almost funny, and the Brigadier imagined it reflected the surprise he felt himself. 

"I've had a lot of bad days in my working life." 

The Brigadier was unsure where he was going with this, but he continued.  
"I'm sure you can relate. Army life. Making life or death decisions for your men."

The Brigadier raised his gaze to look at Mike, who was staring determinedly at a spot on the table. 

"The day that you - someone I trusted, respected and cared about - betrayed the trust I'd shown in you, especially for a cause so plainly evil and destructive - well, that was one of the worst days of my career."

Mike was still staring at the table, and the Brigadier noticed uneasily that he was tearing small bits of skin from his cuticles.

"I trusted you for a reason Mike. And you betrayed that trust. I'm glad that Jo and Cliff are looking after you. I'm glad that you've found something to believe in and work towards. Especially if you can achieve that goal without holding your superiors at gunpoint whilst waffling on about the fate of the world and, for some godforsaken reason, Pterodactyls."

Mike seemed to loosen up slightly at this last comment. 

"Luckily, my employer no longer provides me with a gun, so it'd be slightly more difficult."

The Brigadier started chuckling at this last remark, with which Mike joined in. 

"Mike, I think you've had a bit too much to drink."

"Brigadier, I think you've had a bit too much to drink, especially if you're calling me Mike."

Finally, Mike looked up and made eye contact with the Brigadier. 

"Thank you for putting in a good word for me at the end. Despite everything."

The Brigadier sighed, embarrassed at the change of focus.

"You were a good captain. You've saved my neck, and your men, more times than I can count. That didn't change when your common sense disappeared."

The fragile truce that the men had seemingly formed hung in the air. The Brigadier wondered how long they'd been talking for, and wondered when Jo and Cliff would come looking for Mike (like a stray dog). He winced at this last unkind thought. Mike was still tearing skin away from his fingers, and a bead of blood had formed on his thumb, beginning to trickle towards the table, although he seemed oblivious. 

At this sight the Brigadier suddenly reached out towards Mike (uncomfortably noticing how Mike flinched), pulling his hands apart, and holding them in his own.

They sat like this for a while in silence, although the silence was now different, a new tension in the air. Eventually the Brigadier let go of Mike's left hand, reaching for his drink. Mike did the same, but their other hands stayed in position. 

As they drank, the Brigadier noticed that he had a smear of blood on his hand - Mike's, from his torn up fingers. Gently, he turned their hands so that the trail wouldn't be visible to Mike. 

At this movement, the two look at each other. For the first time that night (and thinking about it, the first the Brigadier had seen in a long, long time before that wretched business), a faint but genuine smile broke out on Mike's face. They sat like that for a while. 

Their (comfortable? Not quite, but close) silence was broken by a familiar mechanical wheezing sound coming from outside the nearly empty hall. The next thing they saw was Jo running past them, heading straight for the source of the noise. Cliff followed her (slightly unsteadily), stopping at the sight of the two men at the table. He paused, as if thinking of something to say, before settling on a conspiratorial wink, then heading off after Jo.

Mike looked at the Brigadier.

"Shall we go and welcome the latecomer?"

The Brigadier smiled.

"In a minute."


End file.
